“I get that you’re hurting over what I told you, but we’re about to have a baby, Gabe. Do you think we can have a normal conversation before I deliver, or shall I just wait until you’re done sulking?”
“Sulking? Oh, you mean I’m sulking over my wife leaving our bed to go fuck her boss on our wedding night?”
“I did not go there to fuck him.”
“Didn’t you? Some part of you must have wanted it, why else would you go there in the middle of the night? Why not wait until morning?”
“Because I knew you’d have questions about me going to have it out with my boss the first day of our honeymoon.”
“And what if I’d woken and tried to find you?”
“I knew you wouldn’t.”
“Because I’m a drunk, right?”
“We’re getting nowhere with this. Either you can forgive me and let it go, or you can’t. So which is it, Gabe?”
He sneers. “I’ll let you know when I decide.”
His phone rings, and he stares at the screen and frowns.
“Maybe you should answer that. It’s not like we’re getting anywhere with this conversation anyway.” I take my cup to the sink, and dump out the contents, and then I lean against thecounter with my back to Gabe. I’ve never been more tired. I’m supposed to be on bed rest and yet I can’t rest at all after the fallout on our honeymoon.
The incessant ringing stops as Gabe answers the call. “Yeah?”
For a beat he doesn’t say a word, he’s just listening to the other person on the line, and then a guttural cry comes from my husband as he drops his cell. “No!”
I turn and waddle across the room, trying to pry Gabe’s hands from his face as he sits, still as a statue, barely even breathing.
“Gabe?” He doesn’t say a word, and I pick up the cell phone. Tommy’s name is displayed at the top. “Tommy, it’s Lo.”
“Shit, Lo. I’ve been calling him since last night. He needs to get his ass to Cedars Sinai in Marina Del Rey. It’s Ruthie.”
“W-what happened?”
“She was hit by some fucking Fast and the Furious wannabe. Drag racing on Windward Avenue. She’s comatose, Lo. Induced ... she’s critical.”
“Oh my god.” My throat constricts and all I want to do is fall apart, but I sniff back my tears and glance at Gabe. His eyes meet mine, and there’s so much hurt reflected in them, so much pain.
“Get him here before he misses the chance to say goodbye, Lo,” Tommy says.
“We’ll be there as soon as we can.” I hang up and Gabe stands and tears around the room, grabbing his wallet and the keys to the Charger.
“Gabe? Are you ...” I don’t bother finishing that sentence because of course he’s not okay. This is Ruthie, the only family—beyond this baby and I—that he really has.
“You should go back to bed.”
“No! I’m coming with you.”
“No. you’re not. Go put your feet up before you put our kid at risk.”
“Gabe—”
“Go the fuck back to bed, Lo. I can’t deal with this shit right now too. I can’t even fucking look at you.”
I reel back as if he just slapped me, and though I know I probably deserve that, I hate myself for the traitorous tears that spill over my lashes and stream down my face. I sit heavily on our living room floor.
Gabe winces as he turns and heads out of the house, the door slamming behind him. A beat later, his engine roars to life and I sob uncontrollably, wondering how we got here, not knowing how we get back to Gabe and Lo, to a couple who adore one another, to us.